


Irons in the Forge

by Lulzy (likelolwhat)



Series: Fire in the Sky (Main Canon) [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action, Adventure, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragonborn Support Group, Flashbacks, Gen, Intrigue, Mercenaries, No Romance, idioms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likelolwhat/pseuds/Lulzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only one link on the chain of destiny can be handled at a time...</p><p> </p><p>Continuing Zahra Dragonborn's adventures from "A Voice in the Wilderness," Zahra hunts down the Horn's thief and does not like what she finds. Her anger clouding her judgement, the Greybeards can offer her no answers either. But scoffing at the fears of even the most paranoid of faux-innkeepers has unintended and devastating consequences.</p><p>(ABANDONED)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fast One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, new readers and old. I'm terribly impatient to get rolling on this next installment of Zahra's tale, therefore I am posting this chapter a bit earlier than I expected. Updates will probably be sporadic as Uni finals arrive, so please bear with me. Also, please read "A Voice in the Wilderness" first. I promise it will make so much more sense. =)

_well, then can I roam beside you? I have come to lose the smog_  
 _and I feel myself a cog in something turning_  
 _and maybe it's the time of year_  
 _yes, said maybe it's the time of man_  
 _and I don't know who I am but life is for learning_  
—"Woodstock" by Crosby, Stills, Nash  & Young

24th Evening Star, Year 188 of the Fourth Era

_Daggerfall Kingdom, High Rock_

Côme didn't know the Redguard woman, but it didn't matter: when those vibrant green eyes filled with fear, he knew what she had seen. But they also held confusion. She had no idea who they were, and thus he hoped that she could be reasoned with and no more lives would be lost by his hand that day. He was not one to believe that such things could be washed away by the New Life Festival, no matter what the priests said to confessors in the moment before they turned away and called the guards.

She squeaked, throwing her hands up, and Côme saw Caïn's hands rise as well; sensed the magicka focusing in his brother's palms.

_Mara, guide me_ , he thought, and rose from his crouch over the body. It took only a nudge at Caïn's elbow to send the lightning bolt off prematurely, and it dissipated into the sweet Iliac Bay air.

The Redguard woman took a huge gulp of air and backed away, but caught her leather boots — she was dressed as an adventurer or mercenary — on the edge of the cobblestone path. She fell with a _whump_ and a cry.

Côme glanced back to Caïn, who was cycling between anger, relief and shock.

"What on Nirn has gotten into you, Caïn?" he said, surprising himself with his volume. He felt his throat protesting from the strain. He _never_ yelled.

Caïn settled on a combination of shock and anger. His mouth twisted as he spat, "She'll turn us in! And what is that—" he thrust an almost accusatory finger at the charred body lying in the grass, "—if not a murder victim in the eyes of the law?"

"Self defense!" he cried, gesturing wildly. "We had no choice — he had no intention of bringing us back alive so we could explain!" He could tell Caïn was winding up for a retort, so Côme brushed past him and approached the woman. Slowly — she was backing up, still looking terrified. Her longbow scraped across the cobblestones. He tried to smooth out his features, look friendly, but he was still shocked himself by what he had done, and how he had gotten so far from home in the first place.

"I'm not — I won't tell anyone — _please_ ," she gasped, stopping abruptly as her longbow got stuck in a gap in the road.

"It's okay. We won't hurt you," he said softly. His throat still hurt a little from raising his voice. He glanced back at his stony-faced brother, who huffed and crossed his arms. _How did we turn out so different...?_ "I'm Côme. This is my brother, Caïn. And — well, this looks really awkward, doesn't it?" He paused, sighed, thought about how to phrase it. "I can explain, but you have to promise you'll let me first. Just hear us out."

"Côme!" Caïn burst out, apparently scandalized that his twin had told her their names.

"Hush. She may be able to help us. Just — don't be a _barbarian_." It had been a point of reference for them, growing up. _Don't be a barbarian. Don't be_ those _people._ He wondered how barbaric the nobility of Daggerfall looked from the perspective of 'those people' in turn.

He held out a hand. Those green eyes studied him, the face they were set in unreadable, then the woman abruptly thrust her hand in his and used him as leverage to get up from the road.

She stood there a moment after letting go, brushing at her armor. "Very well, I shall listen. Suppose I have to, though thank you for making it seem I have a choice in the matter."

"You always have a choice," Côme said quietly, looking at his hands. From whence the fire came.

The Redguard cocked her head, but she held her hand out, glancing between him and Caïn, who kept his distance. And when he took it, she firmly shook his hand. She wasn't afraid of the destruction his hands had wrought not ten minutes before? Not then, anyway.

"To each their own," she said. "My name is Zahra."

~*~o~*~

3rd Frostfall, Year 201 of the Fourth Era

_Hjaalmarch Hold, Skyrim_

"Côme?" came the inevitable whisper.

He hummed, letting Zahra know he was awake, but did not open his eyes or move. He was in no danger of falling asleep; the wind howled so loudly outside their commandeered shelter that he was on constant alert. He was okay going without a night's sleep — the night before had been spent in the Moorside Inn, and if the beds were narrow and rickety, at least they were better than Ustengrav's stench of death. And far better than a dome in the ruins of Labyrinthian, with the frost trolls, as he was finding out that night. He'd long become accustomed to dozing while walking if necessary, so he'd make up the sleep later. He was reminded again how far he had come, as it seemed a lifetime ago that he scorned anything less than feather beds every night. From minor nobility in High Rock to fugitive to... well, whatever he was now. Friend of the Dragonborn. _Not that spoiled child any more._

"Do you feel that?"

He opened his eyes, though it made little difference until he rolled over and sat up. He found Zahra's eyes across the campfire, where she had been on watch. Arrows and parts of arrows were scattered about her, along with her precious bow and quiver; she'd been making sure her arrows were "balanced," whatever that meant. He didn't know archery and thought that all the work required to have just one shot, let alone many, was tremendous and unmanageable. But, he supposed, magic would seem strange to someone who didn't know it, as well. "Feel what? Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I can't— it's like a pulse, in the earth." She was unsettled, he could tell even in the low light.

"In the earth...?" he repeated, looking down at the ground as if that would help.

Zahra's voice shook. "Tell me I'm not going crazy. It's bad enough that the dragons— well, it's bad enough already." She set aside the sinew she had been holding and placed her palm flat on the ground. Then she abruptly shifted and shoved her bedroll out of the way so she could lie with her ear pressed to the permafrost. "It's something like... a voice? A voice from the earth..."

"No," he said slowly, remembering where they were. "A voice from Labyrinthian."

She rocketed to her feet so fast she tripped over her own bow and fell back again, slumping against the dome wall behind her. "Côme, I heard it." She was shaking like a leaf in a gale, her brilliant green eyes unfocused. "I heard it. It's—" she cut herself off, swallowed hard, then... her voice changed. Deeper, an ancient malevolence. " _Dovahkiin, ruz? Hi mindok nid, mal kiir. Hi dreh ni orin mindok veyn hi los..._ "

Côme was across the room and had slapped her before he even knew quite what he was doing.

Her head snapped to the side with the force of his blow, and she slid further down the wall until she was sitting fully. Slowly, a hand came up to touch her cheek, where he could already see a bruise forming even as he stepped back. He could not believe what he had done.

"What...?" She turned her head, blinked at him in confusion.

His knees buckled out from under him. He gaped at her, barely able to breathe. His mind buzzed with half-formed thoughts. _I struck her, struck her, oh Mara, forgive, I struck her, I struck, struck, struck..._

"Côme?" she said in a small voice. "What just happened?"

A strangled sound came out of his mouth, though he didn't know what it was meant to be, didn't know what combination of syllables arranged in which order would ever explain that he had been terrified for her when that _voice_ came out of her mouth, and he had acted without thought. "Zahra," he finally managed to gasp. His hands shook.

She reached out and stilled them, turned them over in hers to examine the palms. His right hand was turning red just as her left cheek was. "Did you... I don't remember anything." She was gradually returning to normalcy, as one who has been asleep for a long time gradually returns to full function. She looked up at him, studied him with seriousness etched into every corner of her face. "Ah, you hit me? Was I in a nightmare?"

He swallowed. "I hit you, Zahra." He felt paralyzed, but from the look on her face she wasn't taking it nearly as badly as he had expected her to.

"Why?"

"You were... you said you heard something, under the ground. You were trying to listen for it. Then you started speaking a strange language, in this _voice_ , and it scared me to death, Zahra. I'm so sorry."

"Oh." She dropped his hands, blinked, cocked her head in a way that reminded him of when he was nineteen and they had met near the border with Wayrest so many years ago. Her brow furrowed, and she nodded firmly. "In that case, thank you." She got up, leaving him kneeling on the ground as she started to pack up her things.

"What are you doing?" he asked, getting up slowly and brushing at his knees where the cold of the ground had gotten through his robes to his skin. He had been taught, had it drilled into him, to never, ever, hit a woman. Perhaps he hadn't come so far in some respects.

"It's okay, I understand. You did what you had to do to get me out of it. That said, I really don't want to stay here. There's something evil about this place, there was even before I went crazy." She smothered the fire, which had been burning out anyway, drenching them in darkness. "From the way it sounds it'll be a biter out there. We'll camp in the first available spot away from the ruins. Plenty of pines around here. Shouldn't be hard to find a big one to sit under." She handed him his pack, bedroll attached, and led the way out of the ancient city.

~o~o~o~

Frostfall bore its name well: winter brushed icy fingers across the little ponds and streams of Whiterun Hold; and, in the mountains above Hragyeva, the termination dust crept ever closer. The grass, formerly as lush as a king's carpet, broke under their feet and was brown even where it was not frozen white. Bears roamed in abundance to store up their bellies for the winter; she and Côme pointedly avoided caves and hollows in the mountainside. Bugle calls echoed down the valleys and across the plains: the elk were rutting. They ran across two dead males on their way down the steep valley to Silent Moons whose antlers were caught together, forever. They had tangled to show their dominance to each other, to try to outmatch their rival, and all it got them was a slow death by starvation. A sabrecat was scavenging the carcasses as the two humans passed by under the light of the moons. Zahra felt Mirmulnir tugging at his bonds within her in that moment, cruel victory and pride welling through the wall she had put up between his treacherous soul and hers. The feeling continued well after they had passed the sabrecat and its meals, when Silent Moons was in sight.

_Briinah_... Zinaazdrem rumbled from somewhere else, adding exhaustion to the torrent of foreign emotions battering her, until Zahra couldn't take it anymore.

" _Shut up!_ " she half-screamed-half-Shouted, startling Côme so badly he stumbled back, casting a lightning cloak on instinct. Rabbits fled in terror, birds burst to the sky, the ground trembled — with her Voice, Nirn itself had to submit to her will...!

Mirmulnir laughed within her, and she screwed her eyes shut and breathed deep shuddering breaths through her mouth. "Gods— Kynareth: if this is a blessing then I must endure it..." she mumbled, doubled over like she had run for miles. She knew Côme had heard her by the look on his face when she straightened up, but he didn't not hesitate to shed the spell-aura and embrace her. He rubbed her back, and she let him comfort her, but she was dry-eyed and silent the rest of the journey. She knew it was something that would be discussed when she wasn't around; she also knew there was nothing they could do but offer their shoulders to lean on.

And they would. She knew her friends well.

They spent the night after at Silent Moons Camp, which had not been repopulated since Tac had gone to slaughter the bandits nearly a month before. Zahra hoped he was back from his mad venture when she and Côme arrived home; she missed that special kind of nonchalance he possessed. She did not dare to dwell on the possibility that he wasn't _somewhere_ , wearing that cracked grin proudly.

Silent Moons was just close enough to Hragyeva that they arrived in time for breakfast on the 5th. She could smell János' cooking through the little windows, which were thrown open to let in the crisp air. She sighed in relief as she nudged open the door — _Racial Phylogeny_ was once again sitting neatly on the chair outside, and Zahra took a moment to smile at the book's reassuring presence — just to be immediately engulfed in Tac's warm, sandalwood-scented hug. Here was home. Here was the heart.

No one mentioned the fading bruise on her cheek, though she was sure János at least had figured out where it had come from. Eggs and bacon were marvels after the road fare (and Jonna's overspiced stews), perfect for laughing and staring stories over. Tac was eager to share the story of his encounter with a Daedric Prince again — from Caïn's eye-rolling, the tale had been told enough times to gain many embellishments — and show off his fancy flaming sword. Côme smiled and said it would have come in handy on their adventure, and then of course _that_ tale had to be told. Zahra leaned back, letting Côme be the center of attention for once.

He told the bloody tale, from rumor to resolution, and told it in such a way that Zahra herself would not believe that there was more to it, had she not been there. He deliberately left out Zahra's personal stake — though he had obviously known of it — and kept her grief between them, her reservations. He kept quiet about her anger at Ustengrav and her weakness at Labyrinthian and her break at Silent Moons. What he did tell, though, was what she would have been wary of saying had she been him.

"You were _turned?_ " Caïn said, gagging. He looked horrified.

_Oh yes. That little adventure._

Côme narrowed his eyes. "Briefly, yes. I was lucky enough to wake up before it set in fully. I woke cold a few hours after Zahra dragged me out of that hole, and I knew what had happened. Luckily there was an alchemist in town, and she brewed me a cure disease potion before I became a vampire."

There was more to it than that, but Zahra didn't say a word. He was a loyal friend and the issue was resolved. She wouldn't betray his trust, or beat a dead horse.

Caïn stared at his empty plate. "You're never going up against them again," he said quietly.

Maea rolled her eyes, and reached over to smack Caïn on the head. "Oh, do shut up. It's not like you can see them coming most of the time. And," she stayed perfectly prim as János, Briarlin, and even _Tac_ stared dumbfounded at her, "you can't order him around, anyway."

The table relaxed while Caïn grumbled, and Côme continued. Eyebrows were raised in disbelief as Côme revealed that he had been made Thane, but after he had explained that it didn't come with a housecarl and Hjaalmarch was so poor Idgrod had nothing else to give but a title, everyone shrugged and congratulated him.

And then they came to the crux of it.

"Someone just stole it?" Tac said, dismayed. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"But _why?_ " Maea, in that disgusted voice of hers.

"Let me say it again, and if someone hits me they're getting a handful of flame cloak. It's. A. Trap."

"I said it first, you idiot."

"And yet I got hit instead of you."

While Maea and Caïn bickered, János looked up at the ceiling, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Riverwood... Riverwood..."

"What, János?" Zahra knew he had thought of something.

"It's just a weird place, is all. Few people have been coming through there since Helgen was destroyed, so any visitors in town are going to stick out like a dragon's tongue bush on the Throat of the World. No, what I'm wondering is if it's a local."

"A local? Who would—"

Tac's chair, previously tipping back precariously on two legs as the man got more and more bored, suddenly slammed back down on the floor with a thunderous _smack_. "Delphine! Of course!" he shouted, clapping his hands together in glee.

"What?" said Zahra automatically. Then it hit her. _Delphine_. She didn't think Tac had recognized the pseudo-innkeeper in Farengar's study; but the man was continually surprising her anyway. The woman had been in leather armor when they met for the second time; she was pretty good at the innkeeper act, but Zahra was even better at remembering voices, and she knew the stance of a born fighter when she saw it. Delphine had already proven to be a meddler; who was to say she couldn't have gone through Ustengrav just for... whatever plan she had? And, she owned the inn specified in the note.

Zahra had a sinking feeling this whole Dragonborn business was about to get a lot more complicated.

~o~o~o~

And it was.

Zahra made the relatively short trip to Riverwood with Maea and Briarlin by her side. She would have liked to take János as well, but was wary of leaving Tac alone with just the twins to keep an eye on him. Maea and Briarlin covered her bases well enough. The manmer may have been abrasive and pompous, but she was also extremely useful in a fight with her frost magic and healing, and quick of wit as well. She could sniff out a rat and identify fishy business from halfway across Skyrim, it seemed. As for the Bosmer, it was good to have another archer around, and Briarlin's amused eye-rolls certainly helped ease the tension she felt when Maea _wouldn't shut up_. He was the best of listeners, easygoing without being annoying.

Zahra nudged open the door to the Sleeping Giant late that morning. The bard nodded to them and went back to his lute. A young Imperial woman was sitting across from him as he played, and she turned as the door closed. Her eyes alighted on Briarlin, appraising, then she went back to fawning over the bard.

Zahra caught the look that went between Maea and Briarlin, but decided it was none of her business.

Just then, Delphine approached, blue dress on, broom in hand, looking the ordinary innkeeper but for her hard eyes. "Here to rent a room?"

Zahra huffed, unwilling to play the charade. "Come on, Delphine, you know who I am and what I need."

The Breton's eyes narrowed dangerously. "No," she bit out, "I don't. Are you here to rent a room?" Her tone said there was no getting around the question; Zahra would have to supply the code.

Well, Zahra wasn't about to bow down to someone who played games with her. She felt her lip twitching, but she tried to keep her face as still as possible when she reached into the pocket in her leather cuirass and produced the note. It had been crushed in Zahra's hand as she left Ustengrav, later rescued by Côme and carefully flattened so the ink wouldn't smudge any worse. As it was, the words had bled a bit, but obviously Delphine recognized the writing when Zahra showed it to her.

Delphine ground her jaw quite noticeably as she lowered her voice and said, "Very well. Follow me." She propped the broom up against the counter where the bemused barkeep stood staring openly at them, and fished a key out of her pocket to unlock a door on the right side of the inn. It opened to an ordinary-looking room, if twice the size of the one Zahra and Tac had rented after retrieving the Dragonstone. "Shut the door," Delphine ordered when all of them were inside.

Brairlin, closest to the door, didn't move, but his eyes flicked over to watch Zahra. Maea folded her arms over her chest and stared Delphine down.

Zahra nodded, and only then did Briarlin do as Delphine had bid.

"You look... different from the last time I saw you."

While she didn't know quite what the other woman referred to, she wasn't about to give anything away. "As do you, Delphine."

"Yes, well—" She wouldn't have appeared uncomfortable to the untrained eye, and thus Zahra knew that this " _innkeeper_ " was much more dangerous than anyone could've thought to look at her, herself included. "—I believe you wanted this?" She produced something wrapped in cloth from her dress and held it out for Zahra to take.

Zahra unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a small horn, carved from the ivory of an an animal she didn't know, with runes that reminded Zahra of the carvings on the walls in Bleak Falls Barrow and at Eldersblood Peak encircling it. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Now she could get back to the Greybeards and— _Wait a minute._ "What do you want, Delphine?" She kept her voice low and even, not wanting to sound accusatory though it would be so _easy_ to.

"Wait. Not here. The walls are too thin."

Zahra rolled her eyes, and was not as surprised as Delphine probably would have liked when the blonde opened up the secret room. But she followed her down the stairs into a well-stocked basement, complete with a rack of strange-looking weapons, an arcane enchanter, an alchemy table, and a shelf filled with potions and books. A table sat in the middle with a large map of Skyrim, an open book, a quill and inkwell, and a sheet of parchment on it. This last item appeared to be an outline of Skyrim's border with black circles and crosses inside it, marking... something.

Delphine went around the table and leaned over it, bracing her hands on either side of the large map and staring Zahra down. "So the Greybeards think you're Dragonborn, eh? I certainly hope so."

"I'm not sure if I believe you when you say you'd like it to be _me_. Or is that not it?" Zahra's gaze kept wandering back to the parchment. _What could those marks possibly mean?_

The Breton snorted ungracefully. "It's nothing personal. Most any Dragonborn would be welcome at this point. We've been looking for someone like you for a long time. I suppose it's good that you happen to be an archer, though."

"Someone like me? Hmm." She turned the mystery over in her mind. _'We.' A group looking for a Dragonborn..._

"Well? You've given the Horn back. Surely there is some reason you've forced us to go marching halfway across Skyrim?" Maea butted in, hands on her hips and brimming with the kind of fury only five-foot manmer with righteous-indignation-by-proxy could summon.

Delphine glared, but took a breath and launched into her speech. Zahra crossed her arms, put on a stony face, and listened between the carefully constructed lines.


	2. Snow Job

In the end, it was all too ridiculous. Zahra knew full well the Thalmor were evil bastards, but to think they had the power to resurrect  _dragons_  was laughable. She couldn't believe it. Not while she had two of the lizards in her mind.

“Look, Delphine,” she said after the Breton was done with her rant against the Thalmor, and her demand that Zahra go waltzing across Skyrim just to check if she was Dragonborn. The paranoia was starting to wear thin. “I'm going to drop the diplomacy now. You are crazy.”

“Maybe, but you don't know the Thalmor—”

That was it. “ _I don't know the Thalmor?!_ ” Her volume rose to a dangerous level. “They killed my parents in the war with Hammerfell! They purged Briarlin's entire family for not being  _pure_  enough! They've been hunting Maea here since her  _birth_!” She gestured wildly at each of her companions, and the room trembled as her Voice came through on the last word. Delphine had stepped back, looking fearfully at the ceiling, but Zahra wasn't done. Her voice dropped to a tightly-controlled snarl. “And you have the audacity to order me around? I don't have to prove myself to  _you_. I've already had enough trials by fire.”

“You'll come back. You need me!” Delphine yelled at their backs as Zahra stormed out, followed ever-faithfully by her friends.

Mirmulnir was roaring in her soul as she half-ran out of Riverwood. She was at the bridge and might have gone on that way until she collapsed, but Briarlin's hand on her shoulder made her whirl around. She could only imagine what her face looked like in that moment. Briarlin's fear shone in his eyes, but he did not flinch back, and Zahra's anger ebbed as quickly as it had flowed.

“Sorry.”

Briarlin shrugged helplessly, but when she sat heavily on the stone parapet, he sat next to her and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. Maea appeared a few seconds later, huffing with exertion and irritation in equal measure. “Would you slow down? I had to pause to slam the door shut in her crazy face, and then you were gone and I looked like an idiot.”

Zahra smiled a little, but it hurt her face too much. “Apologies, my lady,” she said gravely. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the castle to return this lost relic to the King?” She held up the Horn.

“You're mocking me, aren't you?”

~o~o~o~

Zahra had known that, whether it was a trap or not, she and the two mer would likely be gone a while. Therefore she could leave immediately for High Hrothgar without diverting back to Hragyeva. She made Maea promise to keep her mouth shut while on the mountain, however — the manmer was disdainful of anything she considered “uncivilized,” and Nord culture in general topped that list. In that respect, at least, she was more like the Thalmor than she would ever realize, but Zahra refrained from mentioning  _that_.

This time, she headed south through Falkreath Hold. The route forced her to go through the burnt husk that was Helgen, slaying the bandits that had taken up residence amid the rubble, but it was a stark reminder of what havoc even a single dragon could wreak. Nord architecture was mostly stone with wood support, but in the south of the province, wood was more common. Zahra shuddered to think of the fire leaping from building to building as it, apparently, had in Helgen.

They crossed the pass at the foot of the Throat, passing by a very obvious Stormcloak camp clearly visible from the road, then descended in the switchbacks down into the Rift. There was a small, seemingly abandoned shack a short distance inside the forest, easily seen as the leaves had at long last fallen from the trees in the area, but Zahra deemed it too suspicious. They avoided another obviously-placed camp, this time an Imperial one, though Zahra was tempted to tell them about the enemy camp just across the border. She ended up just imagining the ensuing fight in her head, which was more amusing than she thought it would be.

In the end, it took just three days to reach Ivarstead on foot by the south route, as opposed to the four going through Eastmarch before. The trek up the mountain was just as awful the second time around, however, but they made it with only scratches and minor frostbite.

Again, Arngeir was waiting for her in the hall as she stepped inside. How he knew she was coming, she did not know. While Maea shivered and Briarlin looked about with interest, she approached the Greybeard, reaching into her pack for the Horn.

“Welcome, Dragonborn. I sense you have many questions, but they must wait until morning, I am afraid. These old bones are tired, and I imagine your journey could not have been without peril. You will find the room you used previously made for you and,” he turned his rheumy, fogged-over eyes to her companions, who were hanging back, “your friends to rest. The ceremony will be in the morning; until then, you may keep the Horn safe.”

High Hrothgar was just as cold as she remembered, but now that she was used to it, she found the ancient monastery also held a sort of comfort beyond its temperature. It wasn't just the peacefulness, either. As she lay awake in her bedroll that night, listening to Maea's gentle breaths and Briarlin settling into a comfortable position, she found that her thoughts were clearer than they had been for a long time. Mirmulnir was silent, Zinaazdrem too. She realized how much her emotions had been amplified and even changed by the dragons’ presence. Where was her own dragon soul, the one she was supposed to have? Wouldn’t that one be able to silence or dampen the others? Wasn’t it on her side?

She had so many questions, and so few answers, but if anyone had what she sought, she hoped it was Arngeir.

~o~o~o~

Zahra woke early, and at first didn’t think she had even fallen asleep at all, but as she rose she felt the familiar creak of her bones that came from staying in one position too long. She wasn’t as tired as she would have been, either.

She wandered into the main living area. While she hadn’t expected anyone else to be up — Maea and Briarlin were still asleep, and the sky still dark as Molag Bal’s heart — she found Borri sipping tea in the corner by the light of a candle. He nodded at her as she came in before returning to his book. She nodded back and sat at a nearby table, where a basket of apples lay next to a quill and inkpot. The journal she’d bought in Whiterun weeks before but forgotten about until then open before her, she took her breakfast there, jotting down all the questions she could remember thinking of over the course of the night, as well as notes on what had happened at Labyrinthian.

And when she was done with that, she blew the ink dry, looked up, and realized Briarlin had padded in silently while she was writing. He was seated across from Borri, passing a scrap of parchment back and forth, apparently holding a written conversation.

Zahra smiled. Briarlin may have been mute, but over time he had developed a system of getting his thoughts across — a mixture of expressions, gestures, and the parchment he always kept around — that rivaled the complexity of any spoken language. She wondered if Borri, Einarth and Wulfgar used such methods among themselves.

“Good morning, Dragonborn,” said Arngeir as he came in as well, followed by the other two Greybeards and an irritated-looking Maea. Zahra glanced up, only to remember there were no windows in this part of the building, so she had no way of knowing what time it was other than her often-unreliable internal clock. However, judging my Maea’s scowl, it was far too early still for the manmer.

“Good morning,” she replied, stretching her arms and feeling her shoulder joints pop and creak. Thirty-three wasn’t old by Redguard standards, but in Skyrim cold got into the bones and lead to early deaths, even among the Nords whose resistance was legendary. She had no such advantage, and so this land made her feeble far before her time.

“Shall we start the ceremony? I ask that your friends remain here or outside. It is dangerous for those unused to the Thu’um.”

Zahra nodded at the mer — telling them she would be fine — and followed the four robed men into the entry hall. Was that nervousness she felt? A feeling of anticipation? Of danger?

There was no backing out now.

She stood in the middle of the pattern on the floor, stance relaxed but insides thrumming with energy.  _Dangerous… unused to the Thu’um…_  Of course she was fearful. She had hardly Shouted at all, at least not on purpose, but she had seen the effects of her Voice. What, then, would it be like to have four trained masters of the Voice all Shouting at her at once? She held her head high. Surely they would not kill her, even accidentally. She had to trust—

A rumble from the earth, from the air, from the foundations of the Mundus itself drove her to her knees as the Greybeards opened their mouths, lifted their arms, and told her soul of its purpose.

It took but a moment.

It took only forever.

And her inner dragon roared to their challenge even as her ever-mortal body melted to a puddle of quivering goo beneath their power.

She did not understand a word.

She knew all: the threads of prophecy woven in.

And she trembled and screamed defiance and was broken and was rebuilt anew.

_Zah-Rah…_

Finite God.

Thus she was named, and thus she would be to the end of days.

~o~o~o~

Zahra woke groggy and cold. She was lying on a stone bed, with a single fur under her and a pile of others on the floor alongside. It looked like she had kicked them off in her sleep at some point, but now she was freezing, so she forced herself to uncoil from her fetal position long enough to grab two of the thickest ones and drape them over her. A tad warmer then, she looked around. The room she was in was unfamiliar — and devoid of life other than her — but it didn’t look like she had been moved from High Hrothgar in her sleep.

_High Hrothgar…_  She remembered the ceremony, or at least the emotions surrounding it. Fear. Awe. Insignificance. It made her head hurt to dig further, so she didn’t. She just lay there for a while, letting her thoughts drift. If snow had fallen on Hragyeva. If Tac and the rest were okay.

“Dragonborn. You have returned to us.”

It was Arngeir, of course, coming in and closing the door firmly behind him. She turned her head, but otherwise did not move from her supine position. Did she even want to talk to him? She didn’t know. She felt like she didn’t know much lately.

“Your friends were worried, but I wish to speak to you before you see them.”

Someone had removed her leather armor, but her sweat-soaked undertunic and breeches remained. She felt filthy. How long had she been unconscious? Who had undressed her?

“Dragonborn.” Arngeir was by her bedside then, staring down at her sternly as her mind wandered. “Listen. You are confused; I can help you.”

Zahra sat up reluctantly, and propped herself up against the wall at the head of the bed. The cold at her back grounded her. “I don’t—” She coughed. Her voice was scratchy from disuse and speaking hurt her sore throat, but she soldiered on. “I don’t understand. What happened to me?”

Arngeir pulled up a wooden chair and sat, looking her over for a moment before meeting her eyes and sighing. “It is, unfortunately, not uncommon in Dragonborns to whom we Greybeards have Spoken to in the last Eras. I’m told it is more common in those who have inherited the dovahsos through their lineage than those given it directly by Akatosh, however.” He peered at her closely, studying her face. “Well, it is of little importance now. What happened, I suspect, is that your soul had not fully subdued the dragons you slew, and the ceremony made them rebel. The good news, Dragonborn, is that you should now have full control over them and any future… conquest.” He grimaced. “Did you have trouble with them before? There are writing in the archives on the nature of dragon’s souls, but I confess we know very little. Our leader, Paarthurnax, will likely know more, but I still do not think you are ready.”

“I was hearing them, feeling them. The first one I killed, over at the Watchtower, was the most vocal. I could sense his rage and cruelty everywhere I went, filling up the spaces… The second, his name was Zinaazdrem I think?”

“Zinaazdrem,” Arngeir repeated, stressing the second syllable. “It means ‘Honor Through Mercy and Peace’ in the dragon language. Dragons are named for their nature, for the most part.”

“That makes sense. He was more sad than angry. It was him clashing with Mirmulnir that made me so conflicted, then?”

“Probably. Are they quiet now, Dragonborn?”

Zahra reached inside herself, feeling along in the darkness to discover that while the souls were still there, still feeding her knowledge, they were dormant in the farthest recesses of her mind. “Yes. Yes… Master, I have so many things I must ask.”

“Then question, Dragonborn, and I will answer as I can.”

“All right. Firstly, how long was I asleep?”

“Two days. You woke three times, only long enough to drink and eat a bit, but you were not yourself. You do not remember, I presume?” he said, studying her again. It made her uncomfortable.

“No, I don’t. When will I meet Paarthurnax?” There was something about this leader of the Greybeards that made her suspicious. “Paarthurnax” did not sound like any name she knew, much less Nordic ones. In fact… it sounded draconic. Had he taken a name in the dragon language? Why would someone do that?

“In time, Dragonborn. He is reclusive and lives at the very top of the mountain. You should study further, as you are not ready.” His tone was one of finality, so she dropped the subject with a sigh.

“Then perhaps… While I was traveling through Labyrinthian on the way back from Ustengrav, something strange happened.” She described it as best she could, using Côme’s words as she still did not remember the incident itself. “We left, even though there was a blizzard. I was wondering if it had something to do with me, specifically. Because I’m Dragonborn.”

Arngeir’s face had turned thoughtful as she spoke, and he took a moment to answer. “Labyrinthian was once a great city of the Dragon Cult, probably the capital as well. Centers of the Dragon Cult are usually guarded by dragon priests, undead beings who served the dragons as gods in life. Very long ago, you understand. Dragon priests spoke the dragon language, the same language we use in our Shouts. Perhaps the return of the dragons has awoken their chief servants as well.” He hummed in thought, then said, “I cannot recommend delving into Labyrinthian to find out though. Dragon priests were powerful mages, and they are guarded by armies of draugr.”

“I have no intention of kicking the sleeping giant,” Zahras replied, then paused, remembering her  _other_  strange encounter of the week before. “Oh, I need your advice, actually.” She settled into a more comfortable position for her back and, when Arngeir murmured a ‘go on,’ said, “The Horn was not in Ustengrav when I went to retrieve it. There was a note there instead, saying to meet the thief in the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood.”

Something twitched in Arngeir’s face, but Zahra noticed it too late. “So what choice do I have? I go there, expecting a trap. And… the innkeeper was the thief, and she says she needs me to prove I’m Dragonborn and that she thinks the Thalmor are behind the dragons.”

“That is ridiculous. Neither men nor mer could bring them back, by any magic.”

“Which is what I told her, but she brushed it off. She said that she was part of a group that had been looking for me — or, a Dragonborn, I think — for a long time. Anyway, Delphine wanted me to—”

“ _Delphine!?_ ” Arngeir burst out, making the walls shake with his Voice.

A knock came at the door. “Zahra, are you alright in there?” Maea called through the thick wood.

“I’m fine!” Zahra yelled back. “What’s wrong, Master?”

Arngeir was grinding his teeth, clearly trying to damp down on his rage.  _Does he know Delphine? How?_  Zahra thought, unsure what was making the unflappable Greybeard so angry.

“That woman is a Blade, and she will turn you from your Way,” he ground out at last, then let out a long sigh, returning to calm again. “I do not know what she wants, but it cannot be good, least of all for you, Dragonborn.”

_A Blade?_  Could she believe that? The Thalmor were experts at hunting down dissent, this she knew. “Do you… know each other?”

“It doesn’t matter. Dragonborn — Zahra — Delphine will use you to her own purposes. She cares nothing for your wellbeing.”

“I got that impression, yes,” Zahra said, still looking at him askance for his reaction. “And I told her I do not answer to her. She wanted me to go to Kynesgrove — the dragons weren’t just hiding somewhere, were they? They are being resurrected by someone or something.”

Arngeir closed his eyes. He looked so tired. “That is true. We believe that the prophecy has been fulfilled and the World Eater has awakened. Alduin, the Devourer, has come again, as he will at the end of time.”

Zahra reeled back. It was true. The world was going to end. Everything, gone, just like that. “That’s what I’m really here for, isn’t it?” she whispered into the stillness.

Arngeir opened his eyes. “Have you considered that the world is  _meant_  to end this time?”

“No.” Zahra said instantly. “And I never will. Master, I am willing to consider that many things on this world happen without the interference of the Divines. Perhaps, even, my birth. But I can’t— I can’t believe that my being Dragonborn in the first place is an accident. I’m a bloody Redguard! I’m not related to the Septims, I don’t have the Dovahsos by heritage. Therefore I must have been chosen, right? Even if at random, Great Akatosh chose someone to give the dragonblood to. I can’t— The will of the Divines made me Dragonborn. Even if I am not meant to succeed, I am meant to  _try_.”

The more she said, the more she felt a warmth rising in her breast, Kyne’s breath filling Zahra with Her gentle pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, updates will be sporadic. I've been wrestling with a certain idea, but I've decided to include it after all. It will first appear next chapter, but I have to completely rework the outline now, so I'm holding chapter three close until I've straightened everything out. Thank you for your patience.


	3. Whistle Down the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mostly worked out where to go from here -- or at least figured out there's no going back.

Zahra didn’t know who to trust. Arngeir wanted the world to end, did he? Then he was no better than the Thalmor. While he had nodded with finality after her speech, and left with nary a word, she didn’t know whether he had been testing her or if he really believed death was preferable to life. Either way, she didn’t like it.

At least investigating Kynesgrove might give her more information than the tight-lipped Greybeard. Delphine was crazy, but it couldn’t hurt to take a look.

Though Maea and Briarlin were in tow once again, descending the Throat was a difficult thing: long stretches of uneasy silence and terse one-worded communication punctured with the occasional frost troll attack did not make for happy campers. In Ivarstead, Maea plied Zahra with a Cyrodiilic Brandy she had bought off Wilhelm and Zahra (eventually) revealed her conversation with Arngeir, easing the tension somewhat.

Rather than cross the Aalto, which would be the most direct route, the group opted for safety and skirted it via the south road. They were accosted by bandits at the Mistwatch crossing, but it was a small group and Briarlin’s Elven hearing gave their armor away long before they came upon the camp. Precious few travelers braved the roads so close to winter, so they could not ask about their destination.

They knew nothing about the state of Kynesgrove until they saw the black smoke in the distance.

The winds were coming up for the evening, so it was only by pure luck that Zahra had her eyes on the sky and saw the wisps drifting west. She hurried her pace, warning bells ringing in her head. When the group reached the fork to the village she broke into a run, racing headlong into a nightmare.

People. Dead people were everywhere, in various stages of identifiability — a few charred beyond recognition, others in pieces, scattered to the four corners of what was once Kynesgrove. The smell was the worst, and Zahra had to hold her left arm over her nose, blinking away the water in her eyes, while she drew her sword. The inn was still on fire, the flames merrily eating at the wood, while the surrounding structures were already rubble and ashes.

Zahra had not been at Helgen, so there was little to prepare her for the immediate aftermath of a dragon attack.

“Stop! Stop right there!”

Zahra turned. At the bottom of the other path, the one from Windhelm, a squad of men in guard’s uniforms had arrived, presumably from the ancient city. Their leader was waving his sword about while the others just looked around, their body language conveying shock even if their faces couldn’t.

“Who are you? Are you survivors?” the leader shouted.

"No," Zah ra said, “We’re travelers. We saw the smoke from the road.” She sheathed her sword and walked towards the guards, keeping her hands in sight. “Was it a dragon?”

 

The men relaxed a fraction, and their spokesman replied,  “Not sure yet. If you want to help, you can—”

“ Wait!” Maea screamed behind her. “It’s still here!”

The dragon ’s roar, louder than a gale and more terrifying than a Daedra, sounded from the hill above the town, then the beast itself rose up, breathing fire and launching itself into the sky.

“ Archers!” Zahra yelled without thinking twice. In a second, her bow was in her hands and she was firing arrow after arrow at the laughing monster, while the other’s shots whizzed by her and ice spikes — good ol’ Maea — pelted the dragon as well. It swooped low, scraping its claws across the ground and forcing the defenders to take cover. Backing up, Zahra nearly tripped over the body of a young woman. The open would do her no good. She ducked behind the rubble of a chicken coop and kept firing.

This dragon was stronger than Mirmulnir or Zinaazdrem, and seemed more annoyed than enraged by their attacks. It dove once to carry a screaming guard up and drop him, but otherwise it seemed content to circle above, taunting them.

Zahra ran out of arrows.

“Dammit!” she yelled when she reached back and grasped only air. She couldn’t fight a flying dragon with a _sword_.

She had another weapon, though. She inched back out into the open; took a deep breath and raised her face to where the dragon hovered, mighty wings flapping gusts that made the mortals scatter.

“ _FUS RO DAH!_ ”

The blue-tinged wave of power hit the dragon full in the face, knocking it back in mid-air and making it fall, tail over snout, to land on its back on the burning inn. It flailed, screaming, as debris flew everywhere — one guard, still staring at Zahra in open-mouthed awe, was impaled by a wooden beam, but the rest were level-headed enough to run first, ask questions later — and Maea lunged in for the kill, freezing those great wings in place with blankets of frost. The dragon screamed, but Zahra pushed through the pain in her ears to run towards its head, sword drawn. Briarlin raced along the other side, mace in hand, and while she slashed a hole in its throat the Bosmer landed a blow on its eye that sent the beast shuddering to stillness.

Zahra backed up, more of fear it would come back to life than to avoid the swirls of soul-light that followed her after.  _ Sahloknir _ . He sneered at her in her mind, but she felt a begrudging acceptance of her strength as well.  _ Will I ever understand dragons _ _ …? _ Well, she was one. It was slowly becoming cemented in her mind that she had a dragon soul too.

When the spots had receded from her eyes, Sahloknir was a skeleton and the others were staring at her. Even Maea and Briarlin, though no fear shone on their faces, just curiosity.

“Dragonborn.” The lead-guard approached her, taking off his helmet. He was a grizzled Nord, but otherwise unremarkable. “It is an honor. Thank you for your help today.”

The battle-high coming down, Zahra remembered what she had come to Kynesgrove to do in the first place. _ Delphine. Oh gods, I was too late _ … Was the Blade around here somewhere? Had she been eaten? If Zahra had gone with her, would Kynesgrove still be whole? She swallowed hard. “It is my duty. You are from Windhelm?”

 

“Yes. The Jarl sent us, as Kynesgrove’s taxes were late. A dragon! How could we not have realized?”

“ You didn’t see the smoke?” Maea chimed in.

 

The lead-guard turned to look at her and reeled back in surprise. He recovered in time to say,  “No, it has been snowing over Windhelm for days. I admit, it doesn’t look good for survivors if no one from Kynesgrove came to alert us, even the guards stationed here.” He paused, waiting for something, though Zahra had nothing to say and Maea was being unusually pensive. “We’ll need to head back to Windhelm, report to Jarl Ulfric and see about cleaning up these bodies. I’m sure the Jarl would be pleased to meet you, Dragonborn.” He was carefully looking only at Zahra.

She grit her teeth, glanced at her friends. Briarlin looked to Maea, an uneasy look on his face. Maea sighed sharply and said,  “You recall we’ve already met. It wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences, but I’ve no objections. None that would  _ work _ , anyway. ”

 

“You’ve met Jarl Ulfric?” the lead-guard exclaimed.

“ Yes. Rescued him from bandits on the way from Helgen. Thought Briarlin—” she jerked her head at the mer, “—and I were Thalmor the entire time, I could tell.”

“Hm,” the guard grunted in response.

“ Apologies, but we must be on our way,” Zahra interrupted before Maea could say anything more stupid.

 

~o~o~o~

The three of them stopped outside Windhelm to buy two horses from the stables, then rode with all haste for Riverwood. Delphine had not been among the bodies at Kynesgrove — they had even tried the mine, but it was collapsed ten feet in — and she had not come out to greet them from hiding, so they could only hope that she had returned to the Sleeping Giant, or stayed there in the first place.

They passed several Stormcloak patrols, all of which stopped them briefly to ask the reason for their haste, but every one released them immediately when Zahra demonstrated that she was Dragonborn. It was funny, she thought, this blind reverence to  _ her _ of all people, just for being chosen by Akatosh or somesuch. Not that she doubted the judgment of the Divines, but she could have turned out a bad egg from the power alone.  _ Power. And responsibility _ .

Zahra looked longingly to the northwest as their horses passed the Ritual Stone, imagining she could see Hragyeva over the rolling hills, but of course she couldn ’t.  _ They _ _ ’re fine, _ she thought.  _ Stop worrying. _

 

She and Briarlin took turns riding double with the horse-shy Maea, and by the time they got to Riverwood the tiny manmer was swearing, once more, that she would never touch the beasts again in her life. Zahra knew that was unlikely; necessity was the mother of aggravation.

Orngar looked up as Zahra nudged the door open, looked back down, did a double-take.  “Oh, you’re back.” It wasn’t a gibe, just a simple fact. “If you need Delphine, she left days ago.”

 

“Where was she going?” Zahra sincerely hoped ‘days ago’ didn’t actually mean ‘weeks ago’, as that would mean Delphine hadn’t come back from Kynesgrove after all.

“ She didn’t say, apparently it was too dangerous for me to know.”  _ Well, isn _ _ ’t that special.  _ Orngar ’s face drew in, and as Zahra was just about to turn away, give up, he added, “But she did say ‘morning has shattered’ as she rushed out the door. I don’t know if it’s a clue or not.”

 

“Morning has shattered…” It probably _was_ a clue; surely Delphine wasn ’t about to abandon the hope she had held, that her group had held, of a Dragonborn. Even if that Dragonborn was only reluctantly wanting to associate with _her_ in turn. _Morning has shattered._ Zahra immediately thought of Tac ’s fantastical story of meeting the Daedric Prince Meridia, though she wasn’t sure why until she remembered the name of the sword Tac had waved about during the tale. Dawnbreaker. Could the code really be that simple? A direct synonym-to-synonym translation? If Dawnbreaker was the clue, how did that translate into her destination? How did Delphine know about Dawnbreaker in the first place? (The latter question was easily answered — she was a paranoid old lady.) Zahra thought a moment, debating whether to ask for permission to snoop in Delphine’s room, but ultimately decided to just walk away. If Delphine was gone from the Sleeping Giant for good, Orngar would have known and said so. She might have set traps to protect her secrets.

_ Fine, have your secrets, _ Zahra thought. They exited the inn, and one look at Briarlin told her he had cracked the code too. He even made a sword-slashing motion to confirm that she was thinking the same.

 

“Have you heard, travelers? Kynesgrove was attacked last week! By the gods, what if they come here?” one of the guards asked as the three of them stood at the steps of the inn, holding a furious but mostly silent lesson on the value of Maea using the skills Julianos gave her. (She, apparently, needed to be beaten over the head with the answers to puzzles. A figurative thinker she was not, no matter how sharp her tongue was.) Amid Maea’s indignant huffing and arm-crossing and Briarlin’s near constant eye-rolling, Zahra left them to it and said to the guard, “We were there, just after. It was terrible.”

“ You were?” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “You wouldn’t happen to be that woman who was at the Watchtower, would you? The Dragonborn?”

 

Zahra figured she might as well get it over with if he ’d guessed. Not many women of her description running around Skyrim. “Yes, I am.”

The guard nodded, though the universal helmet meant she couldn ’t tell whether his expression was awestruck or accusatory. Then he spoke again. “Ach, I don’t envy you. That’s an awful lot of responsibility, and Skyrim is a big place to be slaying dragons in.”

 

She felt her lips quirk into a sad smile as he nodded in farewell and ambled away. Seemed everyone was realizing the same thing: the Dragonblood was a heavy burden to bear. If she had stayed just another mercenary in a land where they were around every corner, where would she be going now? Where would she be tomorrow? To clear out a bandit den, or accompany a smart-mouthed noble, or something else that, while unpredictable as anything was while working in Skyrim, was nowhere near the lengths she knew she ’d have to go to stop Alduin.

“ Come on, you two,” she called to her companions as she mounted the chestnut mare she’d bought in Windhelm. “Let’s go home.”

 

~o~o~o~

Approaching from the south, the little group sent off their signals (arrow, arrow, ice spike), though it was swiftly nearing dusk and Zahra suspected those left behind wouldn ’t be expecting them. It was chilly, too, the remnants of yesterday’s light snow clinging to the earth.

But there they were, her boys, gathered around a campfire in the yard, Tac and J ános doing some strange jig in the flickering light, roaring out a drinking song, Côme sitting nearby, laughing and clapping his hands to their antics, and Caïn strumming a lute out of rhythm with the upbeat dance, seeming determined to ignore the mead-fueled party scene in front of him. They hadn’t seen the signals, no, but Zahra supposed they could get away with letting their guard down in the wilderness just this once — and Caïn, at least, was almost definitely sober.

Just then, Ca ïn’s head turned sharply, firelight catching on blue eyes wide with the beginnings of alarm, but he calmed down when Maea cast her magelight, illuminating their faces in the harsh, white glow.

 

Briarlin headed off to take care of the horses (Zahra hadn ’t known he could do that, but then he did continually surprise her with his versatility) as Maea darted forward to grab a bottle of mead. For her part, Zahra accepted Tac’s booze-scented hug easily. She hadn’t seen him properly drunk in a while, but she’d missed him so. János passed her the last brandy they’d been saving, and she took a sip gratefully, letting the drink warm her bones. Côme waved her to sit between him and his brother, whole face lighting up with a smile that was infectious, even for him.

They didn ’t ask, and she didn’t offer, any news. For this night, it was enough that they were alive and well. In the afternoon, after the hangovers had been managed, she could run her theory by them and pick her companions for the next journey. Her belly was warm, the fire was roaring, and the drunken chatter all around reassured her.

 

At some point, C ôme fell asleep on her shoulder. She nudged him off gently and repositioned him with his head on her lap, stroking his hair absentmindedly. Poor thing. He really missed Irén.

“ I’ll take him to bed,” Caïn offered after a minute. At her nod, he picked his twin up easily and carried him into the Hall. Maea plunked down in his empty space, clutching her mead and staring grimly into the fire. Tac and János slowdanced — or rather, shuffled — to the side. Would they ever fall down? She wondered if it would be appropriate to bet on who would collapse first.

 

“Where’s Briarlin?” she asked absentmindedly, taking another sip of the brandy to ward off chills.

“ Inside already. He was pretty tired, but he grabbed a bottle while you weren’t looking.” She held up her own for emphasis.

 

“I thought you hated mead,” Zahra said, raising an eyebrow.

Maea sorted ungracefully.  “At this point, I don’t care. I needed a drink.”

 

Zahra hummed, staring into the dying flames. Tac and J ános were holding on to each other to keep from falling, now. She made up her mind to stop any disaster before it happened; if she left them there they would never get into the house. She passed her brandy to a startled Maea, then got up and guided the stumbling lushes into the Hall. Caïn reappeared and helped with the taller and heavier János while she wrestled a giggling Tac up the stairs and into his bed. “Sleep it off!” she ordered him, though he was far beyond hearing her .

~o~o~o~

The next morning, Zahra rose with only a mild hangover. She slipped from her room, stepping quietly to not disturb the others, and stepped outside into the morning air.

It smelled of smoke.

She froze, panic trickling into her muddled brain. Turning south, towards Whiterun, she saw the mass of dark shapes milling on the plain, and the catapults already firing. Boulders wreathed in flame rained down on her beloved city. She could hear them crash into the walls and the houses even from th at  distance.

Ulfric Stormcloak had made his move.


End file.
